


like a willow tree, intertwined

by sonhoedesrazao



Series: Skam ficlets [5]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Implied Suicide Attempt, M/M, post-s4e4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonhoedesrazao/pseuds/sonhoedesrazao
Summary: Isak’s hand is shaking.





	like a willow tree, intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Willow Tree](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGKYE2KNpT4) by Tom Speight. Read on [Tumblr](http://sonhoedesrazao.tumblr.com/post/160351970608/like-a-willow-tree-intertwined-950-words)!

Isak’s hand is shaking.

He grabs Even and turns away from the scene—away from those boys, with their sharp words and questions, and away from Sana, who, as it turns out, knew Even. Had known him since before Isak ever set eyes upon him.

 _They lied to me_ , part of him thinks, but it’s a whisper on the back of his mind, overwhelmed by something much larger—anger, tinting his vision red and only held back by the need to get Even away. _They hurt him_ , he thinks, and feels the sharp, surreal edges of the thought, the idea that Even’s own friends could make him feel alone and unwanted seeming absurd.

How dare them.

Even’s hand is cold and limp as Isak leads him home.

He feels untethered. If Even wasn’t beside him, he’d turn back around and do something. Anything. Make someone pay.

He also knows it’s not that simple.

Isak’s not an idiot. He knew Even had a past, filled with people whose names were never mentioned and who only showed up in stories now and then as _a friend of mine once said_ or _one time I was with this guy_. He knew a little from gossip and a little from guessing. And had decided not to demand or pry, because curiosity might lead to Even getting hurt, and it wouldn’t be worth it.

 _I was sick_ , Even told them, an explanation he didn’t owe anyone, as far as Isak is concerned. As far as Isak is concerned, he’d love to place blame on one, or all of them. Maybe punch someone.

But it’s true. It  _wasn’t_ anyone’s fault. Isak knows this in the hidden corner of his heart where he keeps a memory of running through the city, Even’s message flashing in his mind and his heart hammering a panic-stricken rhythm in his chest. He hasn’t let himself dwell on those moments in the past few months, but there’s not hiding from them now.

Someone hurting Even is unthinkable.

Even hurting himself is unbearable.

The truth is that Even could get depressed again, but Isak _has_ to think it’s different now. He knows that he—them—are not a cure. Even’s disorder isn’t magically going to disappear just because they’re happy. He never thought that; he knew what he was signing up for. And it was worth it. It would _always_ be worth it. But he _has_ to think there’s some difference, that the fact that he _knows_ Even is bipolar and that Even _knows_ how much Isak loves him, makes a difference. Makes it just a little better, just a little bit easier.

They reach home in silence. Isak opens the door, fumbling with the keys with one hand while the other is still pressing Even’s, and closes it behind them.

For a moment, neither of them moves. It’s dark and he doesn’t turn on the lights. Even is outlined against the light from the street that comes through their curtains. Yellow, like they once joked. Straight from another universe.

It’s not just anger, he realizes. It’s pure and mind-numbing fear.

Even’s not crying, but Isak might be.

He throws his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, like he did once before, when he hoped gestures would say more than words. Then he grabs Even’s face and whispers, “Fuck them.”

Even’s lips twitch ever so slightly.

“It’s not their fault,” he says, his voice a whisper. His eyes are hesitant as they search Isak’s. “I wanted to tell you. I thought about telling you every day. Are you angry? It’s okay if you are.”

“Not with _you_ ,” Isak says, horrified that there was even a doubt. He brings them closer, so their foreheads will touch and their breath mingle. “Even. I love you so much.”

The words feel used-up and commonplace. He almost wishes he didn’t say them every day, before going to sleep, while watching a movie, after having sex. Language is failing him now. It’s exactly what he wants to say, but there should be an _I love you_ for when you’re leaving for school, and an _I love you_ for when you’re trying to tell someone they’re the most important person in your life and you can’t imagine living without them.

Even sighs, arms circling Isak gently. Isak’s not sure who’s holding who. He sniffs quietly.

“It’s okay,” Even says. “I’m okay.”

“It’s their loss, you know,” Isak says when he can speak again. Even huffs out a laugh. “I’m serious. Anyone who doesn’t have you in their life is missing out, and, and… and is a total idiot. You’re a delight.”

The corners of Even’s eyes crinkle.

“A delight, huh?”

“When you’re not being a dick,” Isak clarifies.

They laugh, quiet and comfortable and warm. He doesn’t feel like moving, fingers on the nape of Even’s neck, playing with his hair. They sway ever so slightly to a music that’s not there.

Even kisses his mouth, his cheek. Then he says, “I left.” Quietly. Resigned. “I messed up and I left.”

“I don’t care. When you love someone, you go after them.” But as he says it, he remembers—how he needed time, how he didn’t understand either. Another thing he tries not thinking about. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is this: “I’ll always go after you.”

“I know.”

“ _Do_ you?”

Even doesn’t answer right away. Isak appreciates it; he doesn’t reassurances, he wants the truth. Even closes his eyes as if he’s turning the question over in his heart. When he opens them, many quiet moments later, they look straight at Isak. Clear and sure.

“I know.”

Isak untangles himself and takes Even’s hands in his. They are both steady now.


End file.
